


His Husband.

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Boys In Love, Goodbyes, Kissing, M/M, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23037298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Their world doesn’t extend past the edges of the meadow no matter how badly they both wish it did, but it’s bountiful and wondrous within the realm of their twined fingers and the tickling grass beneath their heads."
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	His Husband.

There’s an old cherry tree they like to sit under, the one that shades high and wide over the meadow just beyond Blaine’s house.

It’s beneath the branches of the cherry tree that Kurt first meets Blaine, sitting alone against the trunk with a book curled in his lap and a world of invention reeling inside his head until a young boy, debonair and handsome with neatly tamed curls and eyes of honey, asks him what he’s reading.

It’s there that Blaine returns the next day, inquiring of the curious boy and the shy nature of his thoughts. He returns the next, and the next, and the next, until Kurt begins arriving to Blaine already situated beneath the rustling leaves and patting the grass for Kurt to join him.

It’s there that they lay talking about the world around them late into the night, until the stars burst into light above their heads and Blaine eventually rolls away, standing up to swing a leg over his bike and pedal home. Kurt watches him until he’s no more than a tiny speck on the horizon.

It’s there that Blaine studies him carefully one evening as Kurt unravels the dreams of his future, designing art and chasing a career, _New York_ , before brushing a hand through Kurt’s bangs and sweeping a flower into his hair, tucked just behind his ear.

It’s from beneath the swaying palms of the cherry tree that Kurt thumbs over the petals of the flower repeatedly, over and over again as he watches Blaine scurry away, breathless and red faced.

It’s underneath the cherry tree that Kurt presses his lips against Blaine’s and Blaine kisses back. They slot together, as if they were always meant to be that way.

With his back pressed to the weathered bark of the cherry tree, Kurt takes himself apart piece by piece with whispered confessions of things a little unvarnished and a little unnatural to the rest of the world, only to find that some of what aches in his soul is beating in the heart of somebody else.

Their world doesn’t extend past the edges of the meadow no matter how badly they both wish it did, but it’s bountiful and wondrous within the realm of their twined fingers and the tickling grass beneath their heads.

Rules cease to exist underneath their tree, where Kurt falls with every stitch of his heart into the comfort and warmth of another boy's touch like a blanket he was born to burrow in. 

It’s under the cherry tree one summer morning when Blaine’s hair is an explosion of unruly curls in Kurt’s lap that he just can’t help but stroke his fingertips idly through. To see it so unkempt is a rare treat Kurt adores.

A light breeze teases at the back of Kurt’s neck, ripples through the long blades of grass. Somehow Blaine’s eyes seem to be radiating more light gazing up at him than the glare of the high noon sun.

“How many hopeless girls did you charm today?” Kurt smiles down at him and Blaine hums thoughtfully, closing his eyes with a blissful smile of lips so devastatingly cherry red.

“Too many.”

“Too handsome for your own good.” Kurt runs a finger down the slightly crooked slope of Blaine’s nose, loose and relaxed in his touch. Blaine’s eyelids flicker open suddenly, eyes full and framed with lashes soot lovely.

“I reckon I’m gonna marry you one day, Kurt Hummel.”

Just beyond the meadow, it’s an abominable declaration, but Blaine’s eyes have never held Kurt’s so steadily, with so much surety. The words are an oath of sweet balladry and devotion in their world.

Kurt gasps, feigning scandal, though his pulse flutters so rapidly he wonders briefly if Blaine can feel it, can see it hammering against his skin. His heart blooms until it’s expanded much too wide to fit inside his chest.

“Blaine Anderson! And what would your Mama say?”

Blaine grins wide and smug as he reaches above his head to grasp Kurt’s wrist gently. He lowers the pale skin of Kurt’s ring finger straight to his lips.

“Don’t care,” he whispers across Kurt’s skin like a promise, mouthing softly at the base of his finger, the space Kurt knows would belong to Blaine and their love someday if it could. Kurt’s heart catches against his ribs so intensely it’s nearly painful. “Don’t care what the whole crummy world says.”

The world is never far behind them with it’s harsh whip of reality and chaos, destruction and suffering. Some days they talk about what it means to them and for them, and some days they don’t. They both know the cost of loving each other will never be simple.

But it’s a sweet balm to talk of dreams so wistful and to stare into eyes that hold his so adoringly. Blaine’s lips are soft against his when Kurt bends down to kiss him, slow and sweet, and his neck is tweaked a tad awkwardly, but it doesn’t matter.

“You better make good on that promise, you hear?” Kurt breathes in a hush and he feels Blaine’s lips curl into a smile he can taste the sweetness of.

……

The last time they meet under the cherry tree, stars twinkle bright above Kurt’s head.

“Kurt?”

He spins around at the soft whisper to find Blaine, eyes broken open and body defenseless as he gazes at Kurt. Neither one of them move.

“Tell me it’s not true,” Kurt pleads. His voice is trembling and held heavy in his throat. It has been for the past few hours, since he heard the news.

The draft age has been lowered to eighteen and effective immediately. Kurt isn’t eligible for six more months, but Blaine’s eighteenth birthday fell just the week prior.

Blaine steps toward him. “It’s true.”

His voice is calm, and Kurt feels the inexplicable urge to shove him, to beat his fists into the earth and tip his head back toward the sky, let the scream trapped in his chest rip its way through his throat.

“We were supposed to live out our lives together.”

“Kurt.” Blaine takes another step and Kurt backs away, shattering inside just a little further with the way Blaine’s face crumples.

“I was supposed to follow you to college and watch you grow old.”

There’s resentment and bitterness and a tidal upsurge of rage flashing so hot he feels violently unwound.

They may have been foolish dreams, but they were already compromised for the world, and Kurt feels as if every single thing left for just the two of them has been stripped away.

He’s not angry at Blaine but the world around him is cowardice, hidden and silent in it’s cruel power and there’s nowhere else to release everything he feels.

No one else who makes him feel so much, so deeply, so raw and untethered and aching like he feels now, unbearable and drowning with it.

“Baby, don’t be mad at me. Not now.” The register of Blaine’s voice, so tender and quiet, shocks Kurt out of his anger, releases something bursting and wide open in his chest.

There’s no _time_ to be mad.

He falls, and Blaine is there to catch him, to gather him in his arms and hold him tightly. Kurt realizes he’s crying, though when he started, he hasn’t the faintest idea.

“Shh,” Blaine coos, lips soft against Kurt’s ear. He sways them soothingly, stroking up and down Kurt’s back and cupping his palm to the base of his skull. “It’ll be alright.”

They collapse to their knees together, Blaine pulling Kurt close against him as they lean back against the tree in a mess of shaking limbs.

“I can’t lose you,” Kurt repeats over and over, tracing and mapping and memorizing every bit of Blaine’s skin with his fingers, the curve of his jaw and the bow of his lips. The crease between his eyebrows and the delicate skin underneath his fanning eyelashes, the skin softened and damp with tears.

Kurt’s never been a pretty crier, he knows that, and the way he cries now is deep and guttural, loud sobs that choke out of him and contort the muscles of his face until his head is pounding.

“I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you. Don’t leave me.”

Blaine, however, weeps silently and beautifully, tears that slip quiet and fast down his cheeks as he wipes Kurt’s tears away with his fingers and the brush of his lips.

“Look at me,” he whispers, hands roaming all around Kurt’s body like he’s taking his feel of him, burning it to his memory. His hands settle in a familiar weight on Kurt’s hips where he grips him tight and Kurt looks up at him through his cries.

“All I’ve ever wanted is to marry you,” Blaine says softly, tears leaking. Kurt sobs, twists his hands in Blaine’s shirt and tries to breathe around the way his heart is seeping out of his chest. “That world out there? The one that says boys like you and me don’t belong? We don’t owe it anything.”

Blaine kisses his temple, letting Kurt breathe into the sweet smelling skin of his neck for a moment before pulling back again to look him in the eyes, hazel eyes wet and round. He pulls a long blade of grass out of the earth and takes Kurt’s hand.

“I’m coming home to you, Kurt Hummel. I promise you. Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be coming home to.”

It hits Kurt like a weight of bricks slammed into his stomach, the reality of Blaine’s departure and the danger from which he might never return. He leans forward and kisses Blaine desperately, crashing their lips together. It tastes of tears and pain and love so deep Kurt feels planted to the earth beneath him, Blaine’s warm body and the twine of the cherry tree roots.

Blaine breaks their kiss, looking down as he ties the blade of grass in a knot around Kurt’s finger.

“If it were a perfect world, I’d spend my whole life giving you everything. You deserve nothing less.” Blaine swallows, gripping Kurt’s fingers tight. “But if I don’t come back-”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

“If I don’t come back.” Blaine repeats and Kurt bites his lip, feeling as though he might burst into nothing but shards of pain. “I want to know I at least gave you this. I want to give you what the world will never let me.”

He raises the makeshift ring and kisses it, three times in slow succession.

“Will you do that? Will you let me be yours? Will you let me go off to war knowing that my Husband waits for me at home?”

Kurt shuts his eyes tightly. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

“Kurt Hummel,” Blaine looks right at him, swiping his thumb across his cheek. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Kurt gasps, melting into Blaine’s shoulder. And once the words spill out, they don’t stop. “Always. Always. I’m always yours. I love you. I love you so much.”

Kurt doesn’t need any preacher or certificate or license to officiate this moment. Doesn’t need a ring fancier than the blade of grass knotted around his finger to know that he loves Blaine in a way that is so much greater than himself, than the sum of them together, something beautifully synthesized and grown between them that fills all of his heart, deep and low into his core. 

That he will never love another in the way he loves his Husband.

“I’ll write you. Every day.”

“I expect you to,” Blaine laughs wetly against his neck, sniffling between breaths.

The moon is shiny and reflective in Blaine’s eyes when Kurt pulls back to stare at him again, wishing he could make Blaine stay right here with him forever by virtue of wanting it so badly.

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers, the syllable reverent and lovely from start to finish, the way only Blaine has ever been able to say his name. Like a gift and a promise and a prayer all wrapped into one. “There isn’t one thing or one person I love more than you. I love you more than I will ever have words to say.”

And there are few words left to say after that. What’s left to be spoken comes in the communication of their bodies, the sweet cherish of each other’s souls and the tender meld of everything that they are into one entity.

It’s under the blossoms of the cherry tree that Kurt sits for hours when the war is over, clutching the blade of grass tight in his palm and crying tears of relief and heartache.

The cherry tree sees him back once a year after that, for a day when he does nothing but soak up the sun's rays and listen to the birds chirping, sitting beneath the tree and stroking his thumb over the blade of grass in his pocket while he watches the horizon and waits for the boy with springing curls and a dazzling smile to come riding up on his bike.

His Husband.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
